


Discreet Desires

by TheScarletGarden



Series: Drabbles & Short Stories [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheating, Daenerys Targaryen/Quentyn Martell, Dom!Jon, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow/Wynafryd Manderly - Freeform, Jon is the Count of White Harbor, Jonerys, Jonerys Secret Santa, Light Angst, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Spanking, Sub!Dany, and a secret Targaryen, and everyone is “sure Ned”, but everyone knows it, just pick something else to read if you’re not into cheating fics ffs, light Dom/sub dynamics, only Ned keeps going steady on the lie, other mentioned relationships - Freeform, porn with context, read the fucking tags, regency setting, seriously though it’s just porn don’t get too caught in the details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: She had been fascinated with the powder blue roses of the North the entire stay, and before she had to leave he had tucked one of the fragrant flowers into her braided hair and placed a soft kiss on her hand, looking at her so intently that she had felt herself drown in his charcoal depths.He already had a wife, of course, as she already had a husband. It was never enough to stop them from acting on the desire they felt for each other.Written for the Jonerys Secret Santa 2019 initiative.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Drabbles & Short Stories [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079349
Comments: 79
Kudos: 344





	1. Discreet Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragon_and_Direwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/gifts).



> SURPRISE, BISH!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ Bet you didn’t see this coming...
> 
> Santa knows your wishes... and delivers! I hope you will like this little smutty piece. ❤️ Merry Christmas and happy Yule, my dear friend!
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

The air in the room was stifling, the noise of the chatter dulling to a low buzz in her ears as Daenerys breathed slowly, trying to keep the courteous smile on her face unwavering for her guests.

The social was in full swing, people were dancing and talking, _socializing_ as her brother always recommended her to do, but Daenerys was tired of entertaining polite conversation with the Tyrells, and of her husband's family’s chatter about _wealth_.

Quentyn was boasting with Margaery Tyrell about the prized canvases he had last commissioned, not even trying to conceal his interest in someone who wasn't, by any means, his wife.

 _Not that I can blame him for that_.

Their marriage was one of convenience, the Targaryens and the Martells united for a stronger position in the Westerosi high society. _And after what Rhaegar did..._

Daenerys' older brother had given scandal over two decades past by running off with young Lyanna Stark despite being married to Elia Martell. It had been first a dishonour, then a tragedy when both of them died, Rhaegar taking his own life after the young Lady Stark was taken by a _mysterious_ illness, right before her brother Eddard came forward with a request of legitimization for who he claimed to be his bastard son. The Martells had been furious, their honour wounded, and Daenerys and Quentyn’s marriage was meant to bring peace between the two powerful families.

 _As if Viserys and Arianne's marriage wasn't enough_. Daenerys inwardly sighed, bracing herself as Olenna Tyrell approached in a flurry of silken flounces. Dany quickly evaluated her chances to run from the ballroom without bringing offence to the old lady.

She was about to discreetly duck amidst the crowd when a sudden loud call stopped her in her tracks.

“Where is my wife?” Quentyn’s voice boomed. “There she is!” He appeared at her back, grasping her waist unceremoniously and planting a hard kiss on her lips.

“Quentyn!” she squealed, feeling herself blush as Lady Margaery giggled, covering her mouth prettily with a dainty pale hand. Daenerys quickly surveyed the room. Some guests looked scandalized by the explicit show of affection, others amused. Olenna looked unperturbed as she caught up with them.

“Ah, young love. Such a refreshing sight for these old eyes,” she commented, despite looking rather bored. Her words were hollow to Daenerys’ ears: there was no such thing as love between her and her husband, but boasting was Quentyn's favourite pastime and he liked to show off his pretty little wife.

Daenerys didn't despise Quentyn entirely, but their marriage was as passionless as they came, and she was well aware of her husband’s numerous trysts.

Still, she kept face, smiling widely, hugging herself a little closer to his side. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. Quentyn doesn't know how to behave,” she playfully teased him.

“How could I, when you stand here looking so exquisite?” he rebutted, making her cheeks flush anew, mostly because of the embarrassment he provoked in her. She could feel the eyes on them, the reproaching gazes of the stuck-up lords that would never dare voice their grievances publicly, not to a Martell, but knew how to make them known all the same.

Daenerys endured a few more minutes of that loathsome socializing business before she was able to disentangle herself.

She got lost in the sea of people, soon disappearing out of an open window that gave away to the terrace and the gardens, walking briskly away from the noise, desperate for a reprieve.

The cool air felt like a gulp of fresh water for her stifled senses as she stepped outside, the calmness of the night welcoming her like an old friend. She never stopped to look back at the mansion, the chatter and noise lessening to a dull buzz in the distance.

Her steps were illuminated by the bright moon over her head, guiding her through the manicured inner gardens, past the fountains and the pale marble statue of victorious Queen Nymeria of the Rhoyne, past the fragrant rose bushes and the carefully trimmed hedge maze.

She didn’t stop until she reached her preferred section of the gardens, almost on the outskirts of the property, where nature abounded wild and untouched, hiding from sight the tiny little cottage she had had built for herself.

A whim, on her husband's opinion, one that he had gladly indulged so long as it would keep his wife from _nagging him_ , in his words. A necessity in Dany's heart, the only place where she could ever be herself, where she could truly breathe, away from the prying eyes of her husband and his family, and even from the gossip of the servants.

The bright red door was barely noticeable behind the overgrown bushes and trees that surrounded the small building, hiding it from sight and making it a beloved sanctuary of peace.

Nobody ever came to this place except for her.

Dany slipped a thin golden chain from her cleavage, two small keys dangling from it. She opened the door, letting out a relieved sigh when it clicked quietly behind her, feeling finally at ease.

She let her gaze wander around the small space, the light honey-toned wood and simple furniture, a far cry from the richly decorated mansion that was her gilded cage. The ceilings were lower, the walls more plain, the art sparser and less precious. And yet here she could find peace, taking comfort in the red velvet of the armchairs by the hearth, the silver candle holders shaped like dragon heads, the pots of fresh flowers lined over the mantel, white baby’s breath and those blue winter roses she grew with much difficulty this far south, just because they reminded her of _him_.

Of the day they first met, all those years ago in the North. All the prominent Westerosi high society had been invited to a great ball for the birth of Lord Robb Stark’s firstborn. Jon Stark had been doting on his newborn nephew and younger siblings and politely ignoring most of the gathered lords, but when their eyes had locked together, she had found herself unable to look away.

She had been fascinated with the powder blue roses of the North the entire stay, and before she had to leave he had tucked one of the fragrant flowers into her braided hair and placed a soft kiss on her hand, looking at her so intently that she had felt herself drown in his charcoal depths.

He already had a wife, of course, as she already had a husband. It was never enough to stop them from acting on the desire they felt for each other.

Daenerys had barely finished lighting enough candles to cast a warm glow inside the room when the door opened and closed behind her, making her jump.

“Why are you running from me, Dany?” a low, deep burr resounded from the threshold, soothing her fears, for it was a welcomed sound, and flaring her anger at the challenging tone it held.

She hadn’t heard his voice in months, not since the last time the Count of White Harbor had stepped foot in Dorne for one of his _business trips_. He usually didn’t bring his wife along, of course, but this time she had been explicitly invited to the gathering that Quentyn had organized - or better, suggested that _Dany_ did.

Ever since she welcomed them at the door, Jon hadn’t spoken more than five words to her, and never left his wife’s side.

 _It’s not Wynafryd’s fault_ , she had kept on repeating to herself, but it didn’t lessen the burning flare of jealousy that squeezed her heart every time she dared to chance a glance in their direction.

“ _Running?_ ” she snarled, twirling to meet the grey eyes of her intruder openly, the aching longing that she felt not lessening her irritation. “I see you were able to part from your lovely little wife long enough to talk to me.”

“I'm just doing what I'm supposed to be doing,” Jon retorted, a frown pulling his brows closer. There was a storm in his eyes, like a tempest at sea, menacing to drown her, to bring her to succumb to the tide in her heart.

He took a step towards her. “She has no fault. I won't dishonour her just because my heart belongs to another.”

“Oh, yes, much better to let her think you're in love with her,” she scoffed.

“I never spoke the words to any but _you_ ,” he growled. “But you seemed to be happy enough with your husband.”

“I'm keeping appearances,” she countered, although the energy in her voice was fading as he crept closer. “Just like you.”

His lips were crashing against her own not a second later, claiming her mouth with a passion she had only ever read about in books before she met Jon Stark.

Oh, how she had missed him, the possessive tug of his teeth pulling at her lips, the warm touch of his hands wandering over her body, the heat branding her skin despite the layers of fabric that still separated them.

Her body came to life under his touch, the want and anger boiling inside her veins.

“How dare you?” she growled against his mouth, unable to tear away from him even despite her rage. “You come here, into my house, with that wife of yours who never leaves your side and accuse _me…_ of being happy… without _you_.”

“Oh, Dany,” he lamented against her ear, his grip tightening around her waist, wrinkling the white muslin of her evening gown. “I have left you alone for far too long, haven't I?”

She couldn’t answer, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Foolish woman,” he chided, but his voice was soft. His warm hand cupped her face tenderly to force her gaze upright, dark grey irises boring into her purple ones.

Jon gave her a soft, lingering kiss, the pace slower than before, tongue tracing the inside of her mouth, breaths mingling. A hand went to muss her carefully braided updo, the other travelled methodically over her body, pulling at her lip, grazing her neck, ghosting over her breasts.

As her breath grew ragged, he kept sucking and nipping at her mouth, fingers moving to palm her waist, the small of her back, her bottom, pulling her flush against him.

Dany moaned into his mouth when she felt the pressing hardness of his arousal against her stomach. The noise only seemed to spur him on.

Frantically, he shoved her skirts around her waist, fingers dipping in between her thighs. He let out a low guttural cry when he found the dampness of her undergarments.

“Only for me,” he groaned as his fingers moved the fabric aside and teased her entrance, gathering the scandalous wetness that clung there. “Your body knows who you belong to. But what about here?” he asked, petting her head with the hand that wasn’t sticky with her sin.

Suddenly, he retracted, leaving her devoid of his touch. She would have yelped, but his commanding voice stopped her. “Bend over here.” Jon sat on the comfy armchair she loved for her solitary reading, patting his lap.

Daenerys hesitated, but she was reassured at the sight of the warmth held in his eyes. Despite the frown still in place and the angry furrow of his brows, there was no denying the love that she saw there, underneath the frustration, underneath the possessiveness.

 _Foolish man_ , she internally sighed even as she complied with his request. He should have known her heart belonged to none but him, ever since they met more than four years past.

She was never able to resist him, his silent gloominess contrasting with his bright kindness, the passion that simmered underneath his cool exterior, like fire blazing behind a wall of ice.

That fire had drawn her in despite all of her resistance, all of her guilt. It wasn’t honourable to fall into its calling, a married noblewoman like her, with a reputation kept pure and pristine through it all.

How to ignore his gaze on her, though? The yearning he clumsily tried to hide was evident to her, for it reflected her own. It drove her mad, forcing her to chase him in this game of discreet desires.

For how much it dishonoured her, it was what made her feel _alive_.

It had felt nothing but _right_ when she had finally capitulated, the touch of his tongue against her own like a homecoming.

And here she was, four years later, the secrets and the hiding she had grown accustomed to, but his touch never failed to make her tremble anew.

Dany did as he said, slipping into his lap with a contented moan, letting the warmth of his touch protect her from the chill of the room as he hoisted her skirts up.

“What if someone followed us?” she protested, but it sounded weak to her own ears.

“It would be a scandal,” he hummed, kneading her bottom lovingly. “A scandal big enough to ruin us both.”

“My husband doesn’t care about me, but he cares about his reputation.”

“I’m sure he does.” The first light slap descended upon her flesh, making her yelp and moan. A fresh surge of wetness dampened her folds, the sting so deliciously pleasurable it made her wiggle her bottom to seek for more.

“He would set you aside, the foolish idiot.” Another slap crashed against her skin, stronger than the first. “Leaving you all alone,” he said as he served a third slap. “And mine for the taking.”

“Oh, Jon,” she moaned, the prospect of her ruin suddenly not so terrifying. “Please, more.”

“None of them know you like I do, Dany.” After a few more blows, Jon’s fingers slid against her skin, dipping into her wetness. “I almost wish they could see you like I do, writhing and begging on my lap.”

She could picture it too, such a sinful vision it made her flush in embarrassment and lust at the thought. Jon, sitting on the fancy chairs in her husband’s dear ballroom, her arse bared for all to see, her moans of pleasure for all to hear.

She should be terrified at the thought, but instead it only heightened her senses as he played with her flesh.

“Yes, Dany, let me hear your pleasure,” he groaned, his stiff erection pressing against her stomach through their clothes. “I should claim you for all to see. Dishonour you to set you free,” he panted. “Take you away, far away where nobody knows us, who we are. Where you could be _my_ wife.”

“Jon,” she moaned, closing her eyes against the wave of pleasure that engulfed her like an ocean’s tide, head spinning, her sex clenching around his clever fingers.

“Would you like that, Dany?” he asked, his hand slapping her bottom once again, this time with more force than before.

Oh, but there was nothing she longed for more than the beautiful dream he painted for her. To just disappear and leave the asphyxiating circle of high society she found herself stuck inside. To never see her husband’s face ever again. To wake up every morning in the same bed as her beloved, his black curls wild from sleeping and his warm embrace surrounding her.

Somewhere where their names and lineage meant nothing. Someplace where the two of them being in love wouldn’t be considered a scandal.

A tear escaped from her lids even as she nodded frantically, eyes closed shut to keep the beautiful dream with her for just a moment longer.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured into her ear, bending over her.

“Take me, Jon. As hard as you can. Make me forget it can never be.”

He didn’t answer to her words, only hoisted her up and into the chair, slipping from under her to make a stand on the side, unbuckling his belt to free his hungry cock from the restraints of his trousers.

Dany pressed her face against the pillows of the armchair to suffocate a moan when he rubbed her wet folds with his manhood, pressing a hand down on her back and hoisting her skirts even higher.

The friction sent pleasurable tingles all the way up through her body, and she wriggled her bottom against him, silently begging him to fill her.

Jon pushed slowly into her, inch by torturous inch, his gaze fixed on the point their bodies melted together, mouth slack with pleasure as his length stretched her from the inside.

He gave a few shallow thrusts, giving her time to readjust to the dearly missed sensation of having him inside her. Then, he gripped her bum tightly as he started pounding into her. The slow, careful movements soon escalating into a frantic rut, something animalistic in the way he claimed her, urgent.

It was always like this after many months of distance, their love and heartache transformed into raging lovemaking. It left her pleasurably sore for a couple of days, only making her miss him all the more whenever he left to go back North.

But he was here now, blissfully inside her where he belonged, and she was going to commit every second to memory as she always did their encounters. They were too few and too sparse not to cherish like the precious treasure they were.

“Dany,” Jon moaned, pounding into her with abandonment, his fingers digging into her flesh so deeply they were sure to leave bruises all over her pale skin.

His right hand snaked around her waist, moving down to her swollen nub. Jon coated his fingers with her juices where their bodies met and then dragged them up to moisten her nub, rubbing it at the same rhythm his cock was plunging into her.

Already aroused by his previous teasing, it didn’t take long for Dany to reach her peak, waves of blinding pleasure crashing over her as she let out a guttural, prolonged wail that she didn’t manage to suffocate into the pillows.

“Aye, Dany, let it all out. _Oh gods…_ ”

His pace grew erratic, Jon’s body bending over hers to touch his forehead to the center of her back, his grip slightly painful so tight it was. A deep groan left his lips as he came, spending himself into her.

Dany could feel his hot seed trickling between her thighs, his breath fanning against the damp skin of her neck. His strong arms hugged her tightly, the pounding of their hearts resonating in the silent room as one beat.

_If only we could stay like this forever…_

“If only,” he breathed against her ear. Dany hadn’t realized she had talked aloud. “But we can’t.”

“No, we can’t,” she murmured, forcing the tears back. “I miss you, Jon. I always miss you.”

“I do as well, Dany.” With a sigh, he retracted from her, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket to clean her between her thighs. When he was done, he carefully redressed her, smoothing down her skirts and trying to conceal the wrinkles on the rich material, sitting back on the chair with Dany on his lap. She tightened her hands around his neck, dipping her nose in his beard for several minutes of blissful silence, their breaths and heartbeats slowly calming to their regular rhythm.

“We should go back before our absence stirs question,” she murmured. “Even if I do loathe that we can’t just stay here like this.”

“We’re still your guests for a few more days,” he pondered. “Do many people know of this place?”

“They do know of it, of course, but only I ever come here. Not even my husband has the key,” she said, slipping her chain from between her breasts. Dany smirked conspiratorially, meeting his gaze before she opened the little clasp, sliding one of the keys out and handing it to him.

The smile that grew on Jon’s face was unfairly enticing. “Wise woman,” he said. As he took the key, the look in his eyes alone assured her they'd make the most of what little time they had, for there was no telling how many weeks or months would pass before they could see each other again.


	2. Bonus Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the lovely Dragon_and_Direwolf decided to draw art for this fic and I’m absolutely NOT crying at how beautiful it is. 
> 
> Thank you so so much, my love. Meeting you and becoming your friend made my 2019 extra special. ❤️ Now I’m looking forward to March... 
> 
> Original post: https://dragonanddirewolf.tumblr.com/post/190000214891/discreet-desires-so-thescarletgarden1990-do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please leave a comment! Your love and support are what helps me transform my spite for D&D into creativity fuel.
> 
> Now and always, fuck canon.


End file.
